she paused and sighed. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? Dash, I know that I’ve been coming across all cautious, but it feels like we just crushed the Golden.” She sniffed. “Although roasting Deepers does feel a bit more satisfying than fighting mosquitoes. This, I will freely admit.”
“Darling,” Dash said.
“Yes?”
“You inspire me, with your willingness to fight. Seriously. I’m giddy,” Dash said, threatening to laugh.
“I’m a woman of layers, dear.”
“I know. Okay, then—on me, kids. Let’s go meet our new friends.” Dash and the fleet turned to follow, drives flaring to life in the deep reaches of a new frontier.
“You know, when I think moon, I tend to think of airless rocks,” Dash said. “Always surprises me when a moon turns out to be like this.”
Dash had settled the Archetype onto a landing pad between two rugged mountain peaks. In both directions, forests and lakes sprawled off into the mist of distance, the vegetation a soft bluish-green under the warm light of a yellow, G-Class sun. He dismounted and drank in the warm breeze wafting up from the lowlands below that were rich with hints of lush greenery.
Leira, strolling away from the looming bulk of the Swift to join him, hooked a thumb into her belt and nodded. “Right? I get that you call it a moon when it’s orbiting something like that.” She gestured with her free thumb behind her at the vast sweep of the moon’s parent gas giant, a softly glowing arc filling at least a third of the sky in that direction, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “But this? Yeah, I could get used to this.”
“Well, don’t just yet,” Dash said. “Our hosts are approaching, and I still don’t know how much I trust them.”
Lomas strode from a shuttle that had landed shortly after they’d grounded the two mechs. Benzel had deployed the remainder of the task force around the planet, with the Retribution in a geosynchronous orbit designed to let her keep watch over the landing site. Dash noted that Lomas had only brought three others with her—a short, round-faced man with pale, watery eyes and absolutely nothing else remarkable about him, and two others, obviously security types.
The lack of an imposing greeting committee told Dash a lot about Lomas and her intentions. It was neutral more than anything, and for Dash, neutral was good. Going into a new and uncertain place meant some degree of risk, even with the mech looming at their backs. A single shot from an angry soldier could do a lot of damage, but Dash hadn’t built the Realm on a premise of mistrust, so he stood, waiting and watching, knowing that everything would be revealed in the next few moments. That was the thing about being a leader. Sometimes, waiting was the only way to get what you wanted, even when you had other options.
Lomas stopped and offered another of her three-fingers-to-the-brow salutes. Dash responded with a smile and an offered hand.
Lomas looked at his hand, frowning. As the moment stretched, a man leaned forward and whispered something to her, then her brows lifted in surprise.
“You’re offering to shake my hand.”
Dash looked at his hand, back at her. “Minor cultural difference here?”
“We don’t engage in a lot of contact with new members of the community or outside our bonded pairs. I could bore you with the reasons, but the details are lost to time.” Lomas gave a shrug of apology as Dash withdrew his hand, only somewhat nonplussed.
“Apologies, then.” Dash smiled warmly and tilted his head in a fractional bow. “We generally don’t like to start things off weird.”
Now Lomas smiled and gave the two mechs a significant look. “If I had to make a list of things about you I found weird, offering me your hand isn’t even making a mark. Now those hulking beasts? Those are weird.”
“Yes, those . . . vessels . . . of yours are remarkable,” the moon-faced man said. “Very dangerous, too, I suspect.”
Dash looked back, admiring the sun on flashing armor and weapons. “We’ve made a policy of never starting a fight. It wasn’t an option we had, not in our galactic arm, and these beings, these mechs, were built with a purpose more noble than simple war.”
“They sure look like weapons,” Lomas said.
“And they are. But they’re also sapient, and up until recently, pointed at a race that regarded life—any life—as a mortal enemy. We’re not cavalier about what we do, and I take my role as